Mens Mentis
by CarlileLovesAnime
Summary: Dr. Dionisia Boulanger is the psychiatrist assigned to all soldiers from the 104th Trainee Corps. These are her (detailed) notes on her appointments and evaluations over the years, starting from graduation.


**raise your hand if _attack on titan_ has taken over your life. well, you are not alone, friend. **

**i'm super stoked about this fic even though i feel like the style is a little dry this time around? yeah. **

**thank you to my beta-reader, the glorious lore, a.k.a. tumblr user ascensionablaze**

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_After the unprecedented amount of trainee suicides in 826, the military employed the help of professional psychiatrists from all over the human settlement to perform psychological evaluations on all trainees upon graduation and after extremely catastrophic events. Each corps is assigned one psychiatrist on standby, and each soldier must mandatorily report for an evaluation every two years after graduation. _

_Dr. Dionisia Boulanger is the psychiatric expert assigned to Trainee Corps 104 in the year 850. These trainees officially graduate in three days. Today the first evaluations begin. _

**Ackerman, Mikasa. **

As she entered the room and I greeted her, I skimmed over her record sheet. I told her, simply for the sake of small talk, that she was first in rank, first in alphabetical order and first to be evaluated. She did not have much of a response.

I started with vague, ordinary questions such as how she was feeling ("Fine") and whether she was afraid ("Not really"). When I asked her why she thought she was here, she said, "Formality."

At this she touched her fingertips to the scarf around her neck and stroked it all the way to the fringed ends.

Noting that it broke uniform, I asked her about the origin of the scarf.

"I got it six years ago," she said. She pulled on it again. "Eren hasn't asked for it back yet."

I told her I supposed it belonged to her now, and she tilted her head to the side.

"Maybe, but it's because of him that I have it."

I asked if she and Eren Jaeger were close.

"We protect each other," she explained. "Wherever he goes, I go. When he needs help, I'm there to give him help. When he's in trouble, I'm there to get him out of trouble."

I posed that everyone needed someone like that, and she agreed. To change the topic, I asked if achieving the top class ranking had been difficult.

"It was difficult for everybody, I think," she said, "But I have somewhat of a natural talent. At least, that's what everyone says."

I asked her if she believed so as well. She thought for a few seconds and nodded. Then I asked if she believed she intimidated others.

"I can tell that some people choose their words when they talk to me," she said.

Did this bother her? I asked.

"I just take it as they don't know me well enough." She leaned backward. "Just because I'm not afraid to fight doesn't mean I'm looking to do it all the time."

I furrowed my eyebrows and asked if she got into fights often.

"Only when I need to," she said with a shrug.

I asked if she was ready to fight titans and not just other people.

"I am ready," she asserted. "As long as I've got a reason, I'll fight anything, and I'll keep fighting."

She wrapped her fingers around her scarf.

**Arlert, Armin. **

I asked my first question of how he felt, and he said, "I'm okay. How are you?"

A bit taken aback, I replied that I was well and watched him readjust his position in the chair. He gave me a conscious smile.

"I've read a lot of psychology books," he started. "It's an incredibly interesting subject. I'm glad the military mandates these evaluations. Mental health is just as important as physical."

I nodded and asked if there was anything he wanted to talk about. He froze for a second, and lowered his head and sighed.

"You know, in the last timed run, I was one of the last people to finish," he said. "Instructor Shadis really lit into me for being so slow."

I assured him that, while this was true, out of all the trainees he had earned the most perfect scores on written exams.

He shrugged. "Sure, but I can't fight with a pen and paper," he said. "The point is, I'm not that strong."

I asked why he thought this way.

"I think the instructor said it best when he said I belonged in a classroom and not on a battlefield."

I asked if a battlefield was where he wanted to be.

"Of course. I want to do my part for the good of humankind." He opened his palms toward the ceiling, pinkies touching, and then clapped his hands together. "I just wish I was a better soldier."

I told him he was indeed a great soldier, reminding him that most trainees had not even lasted the whole three years like he had.

"I guess so," he said, "—But all my friends made it into the top ten, and I did not."

Though I already knew, I asked him why the top ten rankings were so special.

"Well, they get to apply to the Military Police," he said, as if there were more to list, but he trailed off.

I asked if he had wanted to go into the Military Police. "No."

I flipped through my file and told him that only four of the top ten trainees were even aiming to go into the Police – Marco Bodt, Bertholdt Fubar, Jean Kirchstein and Annie Leonhardt – and that the rest had recorded their ambitions as Scouting Legion or undecided. This was the only real perk available to top ten graduates. I then asked him what the problem was.

He took a moment. "I don't know." He faked a smile at me and looked away. "I just don't feel like I'm good enough." He let out a nervous chuckle.

I told him he would find his place sooner or later, and until then could do anything he wanted if he put his mind to it.

He laughed and said, "My father used to tell me the same thing."

**Bodt, Marco. **

He came into the appointment smiling. He was the first patient I'd had do that.

I asked him how he felt and he said, "Good, very good," and at that I specified the question by asking how he felt about graduating.

"Well – I know this sounds a little weird, but I'm excited," he said.

I asked why.

His energy was palpable. "I've always admired soldiers, ever since I was a little kid," he regaled. "I feel like I was born to be one. I never had a doubt. I know it's hard and scary work, and I can't even imagine how much harder and scarier it's going to be once I move on to my actual service, but I—. I don't feel as apprehensive as I probably should." He pressed the back of his hand to his lips and glanced around.

It was good that he felt confident, I told him, and he didn't have to force himself to be afraid if he was not.

He chuckled a bit.

I asked him what he thought the future held for him, and he had bright plans to join the Military Police and serve mankind and eventually improve the quality of life universally within the walls. I complimented his ambition.

For several minutes I gave him questions meant to evoke nervousness, so that he could release negative emotions if he had to, but he genuinely had no need for that. At most he would take a moment to think before answering. He became another first for me: the first trainee I had seen so thoroughly optimistic. He also talked quite a lot about his fellow trainees; of each he was fond and proud.

"We all have our whole lives ahead of us, you know? And I just hope that they are long and prosperous," he said.

I told him I hoped so too, and that I would do my part to make sure things stayed that way, and he thanked me.

**Braun, Reiner. **

"I've heard it's a tradition that every trainee corps holds a huge dance party the night of graduation," he said. "I'm stoked for that, at least. It will be so nice to unwind and have fun with everyone before we all go our separate ways. It may be the last chance we get to let loose."

I agreed with him, chuckling.

"Yeah, everyone is looking forward to it."

I asked how he felt about everything that was to happen after graduation and the alleged party.

He sighed and said, "Who isn't afraid?", rubbing his hands up and down his thighs. "I've done it, though. I've gone through training and sealed my fate. I'm going to be a soldier, and there's no turning back."

I asked if he felt trapped.

"No, I honestly like being a soldier," he said.

When I asked what he liked about being a soldier, he responded, "Just about everything. The pride and the dignity, the camaraderie, the sense of justice. Hell, even the work I don't think I'll mind."

He paused to reflect for a moment, and sensing this, I did not say anything. He crossed and uncrossed his legs.

"I guess I'm not so much afraid of the threats I'll face as I am afraid of myself," he mused.

I asked what he meant by this.

"Have you seen career soldiers?" he said. "They all have that hard look in their eyes. They've all been scared, they've all been angry, they've all been depressed. They've been through so much and they've had to do so many terrible things that we can't even imagine. After a while they simply stop feeling so much anymore." He blinked slowly. "I just fear becoming hard like that. I feel like I already am hardening."

I asked him if it was the emotionlessness of hardening or what he would have to go through to become hard that scared him more.

And he replied, "Both."

**Braus, Sasha. **

She did not sit until I gave her explicit permission to do so.

She looked conspicuously uncomfortable, and I noted this aloud and asked her how she was feeling.

"I'm feeling a lot right now, really," she said. She clapped her hands between her knees and rubbed them back and forth. "More than anything, though, I'm in pain." She bit the insides of her cheek and bent forward slightly at the waist.

I asked where she felt pain. She paused a moment before replying.

"Everywhere," she stammered. "My stomach, my head, my neck, my back…" She trailed off and visibly deflated, shutting her eyes and sinking further into the seat. She let out a shaky sigh. Her eyes opened and directed at me. "I'm sorry. I'm nervous."

I told her she was okay and not alone. I then offered to use a hypnosis-like technique that would calm her. She said please, if it was not too much trouble.

I instructed her to lean back, sprawl her limbs, relax her muscles and lay her head against the back of the chair. She breathed slowly and deliberately in through the nose, out through the mouth. I told her to speak as soon as her pain increased anywhere, and whenever she did I instructed her to concentrate on that spot until the pain left, which it always did.

After ten minutes of this, she finally lifted her head and opened her eyes. I asked if she felt any better.

"I do, actually," she said, and she smiled. "Thank you."

I smiled back.

I asked if she felt scared, and about what.

She opened her mouth but at first did not speak a word, instead taking in a breath and thinking for a moment. She released the breath through the nose, her chest falling.

"I'm scared of what I don't know. And right now, I don't know much."

I told her she was not the only one who felt uneasy about the unknown, and asked her to elaborate.

She took a bit to reflect before answering. "For many years while I was growing up, there were always a lot of questions. The government that ran our district was very corrupt. Our economy was rural and very slow. Food was scarce, and after the refugees moved in it became even scarcer. We never knew what we were going to do beyond _today_." She inhaled and sighed. "I guess, even though I'm in a different place now, my life will still be day-to-day like that."

I told her that such an attitude would make her more likely to appreciate what time she knew she had, and she nodded, paused, and laughed.

**Fubar, Bertholdt. **

The way he sat, he squeezed his fists between his thighs, and his shoulders were hunched; he quite dwarfed the chair. He trembled and sweated. He stared at the floor.

Concerned, I asked how he was feeling. He rubbed his feet against each other.

"I'm okay," he said, and he repeated himself a few times under his breath. He brought his eyes to me and faked a smile.

I asked if he needed a minute and he replied, "No, I'm good." He began to tap his foot against the floor, and looked toward the door. "Reiner said he'd wait for me. He thinks I'm going to end up crying."

I asked what made Braun think he would cry. He gave me a small shrug and a shaky chuckle.

In hopes to shift slightly away from this topic, I asked if he and Braun were close.

"We've known each other since before we can remember," he recounted. "He's a brother to me, really." This coaxed from him a small, genuine smile. I requested that he talk more about Braun.

"He's so very loyal. He's the kind of guy who can always lift the mood. He's spontaneous – he'd do anything to help someone out." He laughed. "He's a really good cook, too."

I smiled and assured him that he, too, must have had talents. He blushed a bit.

"Well, I'm a head taller than almost everyone I meet," he mentioned. "That's one thing." He rubbed the tip of his thumb along his fingernails. "I always feel kind of awkward, though."

I asked why he felt awkward.

"On one hand I stick out like a sore thumb – but at the same time I don't have much presence…" He trailed off. He paused a moment to contemplate. "I guess that's why it's nice to have Reiner around, though. He talks for me so I don't have to."

I cocked my head and said he'd have to speak for himself sometime, as uncomfortable as it might be.

"Probably," he sighed, and he hung his head.

**Jaeger, Eren. **

This patient had the most intense eyes I had ever seen. They were filled with fear, grief, and an overwhelming amount of anger. At least one part of his body was constantly in motion, be it a bobbing leg or twitching fingers.

I asked how he felt about the future both near and eventual.

"I'm ready," he proclaimed. "I'm ready to fight, and I'm ready to win."

I complimented his enthusiasm, though I felt uneasy about it. I asked what made him think he was ready.

"I've worked my ass off in training. And I've always wanted to kill titans. I dream about it."

I noted that, unlike him, most people did not have the drive to venture onto the field.

"It's because they're cowards. We're all cowards." His fists clenched and unclenched. "I think it's time that mankind stopped running and hiding, and started to stand up to the titans."

Tentatively I agreed with him.

"Then you should be a soldier with the rest of us," he said. I faked a chuckle and told him I was not athletic enough. He responded, "So?"

Not knowing what to say in turn, I took a peek at his information sheet. I frowned at a certain footnote – one that said he had murdered two people six years ago and was acquitted of the crime due to a self-defense claim – and as much as it piqued my interest, I decided to not mention it, as it could agitate him. I skimmed the sheet for something else to talk about, but nothing seemed safe: he came from a now destroyed district, his mother was marked as deceased and father as missing, his behavior record in the trainee corps alone was riddled with citations. I glanced up at him. He was a ticking time bomb. I scrawled a note onto his sheet and hoped he did not notice.

At somewhat of a loss, I mentioned his fifth place rank. I told him he should be proud.

"You think so?" he said. "I feel like I've been proven worthy, in a way." He seemed to visibly, drastically calm down. "It was a struggle to get here, but then again, everything is."

I told him I concurred, and in the back of my mind I wondered what he had been thinking before he came into the appointment that had made him so jumpy.

**Kirchstein, Jean. **

He leaned back in the armchair and kicked an ankle over his opposite knee, likely studying the unidentified stains on the wall, when I asked him if he knew why he was here.

He raised his eyebrows and looked at me then. His scowl was deep.

"I think you know better than I do," he said, scoffing. He crossed his arms over his chest and his glare in my direction visibly intensified. His shoulders moved backward slightly. He was trying to seem intimidating. "Would you tell me why I have to do this pointless thing?"

I told him I was not in the right position to answer that. At that he sighed and averted his eyes from me. His head turned to the side.

He remained like this, silent, for more than three minutes. I did not speak either during this time. Eventually I attempted to reengage him by mentioning that, according to my records, he had plans to enter the Military Police after graduation.

He looked me dead in the face and regarded me for a second.

"You know, you're really creepy," he said.

Admittedly I frowned and squirmed at this. I restrained my initial reaction and instead asked him how so.

"This whole thing is creepy," he said, leaning forward, lowering his propped foot to the floor and unfurling his arms. "People like you are here to get into our heads, and tell us whether we're 'healthy' and what we should do with ourselves, and all that shit. It's an invasion of privacy, is what it is." He pressed the balls of his palms to his kneecaps.

I opened my mouth, but he was not finished speaking.

"Look, I don't need this, alright? I'm perfectly fine right now. I know what I'm doing. A shrink's not gonna do me any good."

He coiled and uncoiled his fingers around his knees a few times. His head bowed a few degrees. "So, let's cut the crap," he added more quietly.

I waited half a minute to ensure he was done talking. I told him that, if that was how he felt, then he did not have to speak to me anymore this session.

His knuckles turned white around his knees – his whole body went stiff for a minute. Then he relaxed, his expression softened, and he returned to his original position, ankle on his knee, arms crossed over the torso, leaning against the back of the chair. For the remainder of the session, he quietly watched the wall, his face twitching on occasion, and I did not do much.

**Lenz, Christa. **

"Hi," she said as she entered, taking dainty footsteps toward the chair.

I responded with a hello, and since I was tired and she was my last appointment of the day, I jumped straight into the first question of how she was feeling.

She sighed and settled in the chair. "Good," she said. She searched the ceiling a moment. "Kind of peckish."

Dinner had been served barely an hour ago, so I reminded her of this and asked why she was hungry.

She stared at me a minute and glanced about, a guilty paleness on her face. "Can you keep a secret?"

I told her yes, it was my job to do so.

"Well, about two years ago I found a stray dog wandering around the forest near camp," she explained. "It looked terribly emaciated, so after I got back from the hike I snuck into the kitchen and found some leftovers to give to it." She curled her fingers and directed her eyes at her feet. "I know it's bad, but I just couldn't stop thinking about that poor dog." She lifted her head but did not look me in the face.

"I found the dog again a week later – while I was walking into the dining hall, I saw it staring at me from behind a bush. So I stuffed a bit of my dinner into my pockets afterward and let it eat that. And, well, now I see it almost every night, and I always save part of my dinner for it. Tonight's rations were pretty small, so I didn't get to eat much."

She heaved a great sigh. "I'm rather worried about that dog, to tell you the truth. I'm leaving soon, so it might go hungry again if I'm not there."

I smiled and told her that, first of all, she did not have to starve herself for a dog's sake – especially since the dog could easily have found sustenance for itself in the forest – and that, secondly, someone else in the next round of trainees would definitely take charge of the dog in her stead, if the dog did not leave the camp to find another home beforehand.

"I guess I never thought of it that way," she mumbled, covering her mouth and studying the floorboards. She clicked her tongue. "Still, I don't want it to get lonely while I'm away."

After thinking a minute, I offered to take care of the dog. The biggest, brightest grin came onto her face.

"You'd really do that?" she squealed. I nodded, and she proceeded to thank me ad infinitum. I told her it was not a problem. She let me know the dog's name was Niobe.

**Leonhardt, Annie. **

Overall, she did not speak much. Her answers were short and vague, but she said them with such certainty that I did not think to doubt them until after the appointment ended.

I asked her if she was scared.

"I'll do whatever it takes to survive," she said.

I scowled at such an irrelevant response, but did not repeat the question.

At a loss for conversation, I mentioned that according to corps records, she did not score highly in teamwork aptitude. I asked her how she felt about her fellow trainees.

"I'm just different from them," she said. "They're all so naïve."

I asked if she simply did not get along with them. She shook her head.

"I don't care what they do or who they are or anything. I'm going to do what I want, and do what I can to live, and they can kill themselves as much as they please."

Somewhat affronted, I asked how she could say such a thing about the people with whom she had spent the last three extremely formative years of her life.

She furrowed her eyebrows, crossed her arms, and leaned against the back of the chair. And she craned her neck and said, "What's three years compared to a lifetime?"

I was about to continue on this conversational path, but realized that doing so would only result in debate. I took a breath and quietly complimented her sense of self-preservation.

"With the world in the state that it's in, it surprises me that so many people are so selfless," she mused. "I can't help the feeling that they're faking it when they do things for others. Like Marco Bodt, and Reiner Braun, and Christa Lenz. They're all so helpful, all the time. It's – sickening, really, to think that beneath all those kind deeds they must put themselves first, like everyone else." She gritted her teeth. "I'm just not going to hide it."

From this I implied aloud that she had trust issues, at which she half-shrugged. "I don't know, maybe. But I don't care at this point."

She jerked her head sideways to remove her bangs from in front of her eye, and sunk further in the chair. After this she refused to answer deep questions.

**Springer, Connie. **

He broke the initial silence with a soft laugh. I raised my eyebrows at him.

"I feel kinda silly," he said. I asked why.

"I feel like everyone else is going in here to talk about their tragic backstories and such, but I don't really have anything like that to talk about."

I asked why he thought he was here if this was how he felt. He shrugged and smiled so widely that his gums showed. I asked what he thought about the future.

"I don't know what to think," he admitted. "I'm just going to keep moving with the flow and see what happens."

I asked him what he _felt _about the future, specifically.

"I'm scared, to be honest – but who isn't?" He propped his calf upon his opposite knee. "I'm certain about one thing, though."

What? I asked.

He leaned forward, lowered his lifted foot, smacked his hands together and rubbed his palms back and forth. "I'm gonna get to kick some titan butt." We met eyes and he started to nod, and I nodded as well back at him.

Within only minutes the topic changed to shenanigans in which he had taken part during his time in the corps, and how he felt a stronger bond with many of the trainees he'd met here than he did with most of the people he had known since childhood. I told him people often formed close bonds with others who shared their struggles. He expressed hope that he and his comrades would not have to struggle much more. Then, thinking on this, added that he still would like to be their friend.

At last he rose from the chair – but paused mid-stance, blinking hard.

"I, uh, have a question for you, actually, before I go," he said.

I urged him to go ahead and ask.

"How do you pronounce your last name?"

I smiled and enunciated that it was boo-lahn-jay.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, and he grinned and padded out the door.

**Ymir. **

She held up a hand to cut me off as soon as I opened my mouth to ask the first question.

"I've heard enough about these things from the people who went before me to know what happens. You ask basic questions, I say something remotely shady, you try to go in-depth from that and I end up baring my soul, and then the session ends and I come out of it feeling slightly less shitty for about five minutes," she said. She stuck the tip of her thumb to her sternum. "That's not gonna work. I'm only doing this because it's mandatory, got it?"

I clenched my teeth and glanced to the side before meeting her eyes again and saying okay. She straightened her slightly bent position in front of me and collapsed into the chair, spreading her legs wide. I asked her what she wanted to talk about instead.

"I dunno'," she said. She tilted her head far to the side – her ear nearly touched her shoulder. Something on the ceiling caught her attention, but I did not try to look. She sighed. After a minute she resorted to speaking again. "Where're ya from?"

I hailed from San Gouche, I told her, a moderately-sized and rather uneventful district about halfway between Walls Rose and Sina. I lived in a labyrinthine ranch house with my parents, sister, aunt and cousins. We bred, raised, trained and sold horses for a living. I was the first person in my entire family to receive a formal education.

I then ventured to ask where she was from, but she tensed and pointed a finger at me.

"Hey, now," she said, "I'm asking all the questions."

I bit my lip and told her to continue.

"That's more like it." She dropped her arm into her lap. "What made you wanna do this boring-ass job?"

I told her the story of my uncle. He had been a soldier for many years, and had wanted to be in the Scouting Legion, but transferred to the Stationary Guard after witnessing the horrors of just one expedition. The memory affected him so badly that he eventually took his own life when I was fourteen years old. Ever since then I had been obsessed with finding out why, and later with making sure other soldiers did not meet the same fate.

"Hm." She clasped her hands together and lifted them to her chin, and took a moment to reflect. "How noble of you."

At this her jaw slackened, her hands lowered and her eyelids fell into a long, slow blink. She threw her head violently back and forth to crack her neck. "Hm," she said again. She began to stand. "You know what? I actually do feel a little less shitty now. Thanks, I guess." She left the room before even half the session time had transpired.

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**if you disagree with the characterization or portrayal of the illnesses or anything of the sort, please message me and i will fix things.**

**also chapter two should come out... some point soon, depending on how much i procrastinate on my homework**


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